She stood with high head, like a roused stag, looking across the water-meadows to the foothills.
Then her chest began to heave.
"There's not enough," she said deeply. "I been home more'n a twal month now. Dad's got the pension, and there's what the Squire allows him and the cottage; and I doos the milkin at the Barton and earns well at whiles in the hay and harvest. But 'taren't enough. We can't make out—not the four of us and a growin child. I must just goo back to service. I made the mistake, and I must pay—not them."
Ernie came closer.
"No, you won't," he said masterfully. "You'll marry me."
She shook her head, swallowing her tears. Then she laid her hand upon his arm.
"Thank-you, Ernie," she said. "I just can't do that."
"Why not then?" fiercely.
"Ern," she panted, "if I married any I'd marry you. But I'll marry no'hun now."
She sat down under the willow and began to dress her babe.